


In the Desert

by ladysisyphus



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Vore, definitely some vore there, is this even a necessary tag in this fandom, kinda gross, kinda sexy, little bit of vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysisyphus/pseuds/ladysisyphus
Summary: Ah, romantic vore.
Relationships: Heat/Serph
Kudos: 13





	In the Desert

**Author's Note:**

> In the desert  
> I saw a creature, naked, bestial,  
> Who, squatting upon the ground,  
> Held his heart in his hands,  
> And ate of it.  
> I said, "Is it good, friend?"  
> "It is bitter - bitter", he answered,  
> "But I like it  
> Because it is bitter,  
> And because it is my heart."
> 
> -'In the Desert', Stephen Crane

He'd long ago conquered any squeamishness regarding eating people, if even he'd had any to begin with, but his hands shook as they hovered over the already-wounded chest, awaiting the first incision. They trembled because they were not Varna's switchblade claws, but his own hands, bare and pink and rounded at the tips, uselessly human. Heat, he thought, would have laughed at him.

Would have, that is, had his not himself been the body splayed on the ground before Serph, bare and bloodied. Serph had removed Heat's uniform and pressed Heat's eyes firmly closed, succumbing to urges of ritual he could not define yet felt powerless to refuse. Heat looked so small there, stretched flat and straight, his arms by his sides, his legs long and stiff. He'd always seemed so large to Serph, a fire introduced into a room that proceeded to swallow all the oxygen for itself. Now he had already begun to grow cold, his skin the same grey industrial chill as the facility's floor, too cold for sleep.

Serph brushed his fingers across Heat's skin, pressing and brushing and feeling all the contours he knew he'd never touched but which felt familiar to him anyway, a body that wasn't this one known by hands he couldn't remember. Beauty was something Serph only saw others see in the organic chaos that made the world, though he now at last found it himself in the mangled mess that had once been Heat: his red hair, his parted lips, the muscles of his chest and arms, the curves at his hips, his penis curled soft in the fork of his legs, his veined and delicate feet. He made Serph think of incorruptable saints; of perfect specimens preserved cryogenically; of princesses dead asleep in their coffins, waiting for poisoned apples to be kissed from their throats.

He found a gash just below Heat's ribcage, deep and prominent, and stuck his fingers inside, then pulled.

The skin first stretched, then ripped and came apart with disquieting ease. He looked at Heat's face, hoping for a flinch, a scream, something, _anything_ ; there was stillness. Beneath the chilled skin there was still warmth, though even that had begun to seep away. Up Heat's torso he travelled, flesh giving way in a line, revealing the secret engine that had kept Heat spinning until it had at last spun down for good.

The person he'd been before had studied anatomy and physiology, had held up the brain as a god itself, but Serph's knowledge of human construction now was entirely empirical. Unable to get a good grip, he moved so he was no longer sitting beside Heat's body, but kneeling astride Heat's hips, grabbing hold of each side of Heat's chest and pulling until the machinery was lain bare. Next came the sharp white bones of the ribs, and for this Serph had to call on Varna; his arms turned white and ridged, hands pale blue and padded the color of Heat's still lungs. He grabbed at either side and pulled, until with a sharp _crack_ from Heat's body and a cry from his own throat, the tense cage parted to reveal the prize.

He'd leave the rest for Varna, he knew, whom he could already feel pulsing with hunger beneath his skin: Varna, who could stomach viscera and bone alike, who did not care whose flesh went into its mouth so long as it was flesh. But there were things that were rightfully his, things that Varna could not have.

His hands -- his own again -- wrapped around Heat's silent heart and lifted it free, and he brought it to his very human mouth. His first shallow bite tore at the ( _pericardium_ , the ghost in the back of his head supplied), and he spat it free, tearing away the thin membrane until he held the red muscle bare in his hands. Even a heart such as Heat's was so small, so still. Serph wondered if he opened his own chest, if his own heart would look the same, or if now was smaller, and hollow.

Serph willed himself to take first one bite, then another, feeling Heat's blood run already lukewarm down his throat, tasting the dark, strong muscle as his teeth rent it to pieces.


End file.
